


The Spark that Bled

by Hale13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Depression, F/M, Hospitals, Illnesses, M/M, Mates, Pack Dynamics, Scent Marking, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hale13/pseuds/Hale13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles really should have known.  But it was Scott (Scott of all people!) who figured it out.</p><p>Well, he always had heard that near death experiences opened your eyes, he just hoped that his would remain opened long enough to enjoy this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First post here and the first chapter is a monster may I say. Quick warning for the whole story, there are medical procedures and they will be accurate. Almost all treatments, side effects and procedures have been extensively researched and are accurate! I'm a pretty detail orientated writer, so somethings may be more graphic.

With all that had been going on for the last few months or so, Stiles couldn’t really remember when the pain had started.  Running with wolves was a hazard in and of itself and was known to leave the human involved with the occasional aches and pains, but he didn’t really pay too much attention to the fact until Scott confronted him at a pack meeting/training session/excuse for Derek to toss everyone (humans included) around like rag dolls a month after Jennifer had been killed and the Alpha Pack had been disbanded.

 “Dude, you look awful.”

 Scott was right of course, and Stiles couldn’t even get mad at him for telling him that he looked like shit (not just because he did, mind you, also because Scott was his best friend and he could get away with it).  But Stiles was sure that he had a pretty decent excuse for looking like something had chewed him up and spit him out.  His dad had been kidnapped (and had found out about werewolves, what an absolute joy that was), he had ‘died’, come back to life, wrecked his car and had still had to rescue everyone else during the lunar eclipse.

 Totally a free pass for a lowered immune system.

 Anyway, he had been not feeling at his normal 100% due to reasons and tripping and twisting his hip had not done him any favors, he was still limping around from the uncomfortable pain.  But, then again, anyone who expects to be able to run around the preserve like he did was really asking to be tripped up, and he wasn’t exactly the most coordinated person in the first place.

 “You’re an absolute gem, Scotty!  What would I do without you to tell me how awful I look!  Can’t have my self-esteem rising or anything.” He told his friend sarcastically, rolling his eyes at Scott’s attempt to look withering. 

 “You’re not funny.”

 "I so totally am.” Stiles shot back, watching with feigned interest as Derek tossed Ethan (or was it Aiden?) across the clearing in front of the burnt husk of the Hale house.  Scott and Lydia had been the masterminds behind getting Derek to accept the former Alpha twins into his pack.  Deaton was still puzzling over them losing their Alpha swag to Jennifer, but both were happy to be Betas in an accepting pack, so it worked out nicely even if Derek and Peter were trying to kill themselves with research (and by killing themselves he means threatening Stiles to do research).  With the inclusion of Ethan to the pack had come Danny, who wasn’t really all that surprised.  Stiles had always known he was smart, and it was nice to have another normal human to hang out with.

 “You’re drifting.  Had any Adderall today?” Truthfully, no he hadn’t.  He kept forgetting to pick it up because he wasn’t on Adderall, but he couldn’t be on Adderall until he went to the pharmacy; the woes of being ADHD.  “But seriously man, I haven’t seen you this down and out since the epic flu of 2008.”

 “Nothing’s wrong per say.  I’m just not sleeping well and I may have a cold or something.  No big deal.” Scott looked at him like he seriously doubted that. 

 “You’re scents off.  It smells kind of… musty?  Stuffy?  Well it smells wrong and sick.  You need to go see a doctor or something, like, soon.” Stiles snorted.  What he _needed_ to do was run interference with his dad about the pack, get his grades back above Lydia’s, talk to Deaton about Emissaries and pick up his Adderall (not necessarily in that order).

 A loud sniff in the general vicinity of his neck shocked him into jumping a foot in the air and landing back on his leg funny, aggravating his hip.  He scowled a Derek who had followed him and was now focused on skimming his nose up Stiles’ exposed throat.  “What the hell man?  Ever heard of ‘bad touch’?” He complained as he tried to push the other man off, taking a fumbling step backwards on his throbbing leg, which was pointless as Derek had, apparently, glued his nose to Stiles’ neck and followed him without any real trouble.

“Scott’s right, something’s off.” He mumbled, articulate as always, taking Stiles’ face in his hands and staring intently at him, nose still flaring as if he was _still_ breathing in his scent.

“Look,” He began, hands ghosting over Derek’s wrist before gripping and attempting to pry him off of his cheekbones, “I’m a fragile human, we get colds unlike you freaky not humans.” He found himself floundering slightly under Derek’s glare.  “But I can make an appointment for next week if it will make you feel any better.  And stop creeping, the creep stopping is a must.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed as he made a dissatisfied sounding noise in the back of his throat.  “This meeting is adjourned.  You’re coming with me.” He said as he let go of Stiles’ face in exchange for grabbing his wrist and dragging him in the direction of the gleaming Camero parked next to the house.

 “I didn’t agree to this!  I’m underage and this isn’t consensual!” Stiles shouted, not really fighting Derek’s hold (that was a losing battle) as Scott let out a very puppy-like whine, but not daring to come to his rescue.  “Coward!” Stiles said back at him when he made no move to come and save him.

 Derek let out an amused sounding snort as he pulled open the passenger door and shoved his captive none to gently in the car, closing the door behind him and hopping into the driver’s seat before slipping the key into the ignition.  “Surely you’re not going to dispute a free ride?  I know for a fact that your Jeep’s still in the shop and that you’ve been bumming rides from Scott.” Stiles glared at him silently.  “And someone needs to make sure that your father know that you’re sick, otherwise you will probably just lay around until you die from whatever is eating at you.”

 “I hate you.”

 “No you don’t.” Derek shot back as Stiles hunched lower into his seat, watching the trees pass as they flew down the dirt road that led to the main highway into Beacon Hills. 

 Alright, so he didn’t really _hate_ Derek, in fact they had been getting closer and closer over the past few weeks, he might even go so far as to refer to them as Bros now but he wasn’t really sure what he was to Derek exactly.

“You’re pack.” Derek said, eerily answering Stiles unspoken question and making him wonder if werewolves were mind readers as well.  Stiles gaped at him blankly, no one had ever really come right out and told him that he was part of the Member’s Only club, and Derek gave him an appraising look before he turned back to the road “Pack cares for each other.”

* * *

 Despite his very loud and well thought out protest as to why he didn’t really need to see a doctor, Stiles ended up sitting on the too-hard table in his regular doctor’s office and fuming at the fact that his dad had not only forgiven Derek for whatever grudge he held against him, but also was apparently in cahoots with the brooding Alpha. 

 Which would explain why said Alpha was seated in the uncomfortable chair next to the table frowning at some scientific journal he had snagged from the waiting room that had clearly seen better days.  It also explained why Stiles was slouching on the table and not in the chair like he normally would.  Derek had growled out that ‘patients sit on the bed Stiles’ and had commandeered the chair for himself.

Bastard. 

 “Why are you here again?” Stiles grouched out for the fifth time since Derek had dragged him out of his house and into the waiting car, examining the anatomic model of the human skeleton on the wall next to him with vague interest.

Derek rolled his eyes so hard that Stiles was concerned that he may give himself a concussion from the stress he was causing his brain, but answered in the same tight tone he had the last time Stiles asked, “Besides the fact that you have no way to get here-”

“I have Scott!”

 “-and your father doesn’t honestly believe that Scott could force you to do anything, someone has to make sure that you not only come here and get a diagnosis, but that you follow it.” He ended with an accusing glare.  So he may have skimped out on a check up once, but, to be fair, the panic attack hadn’t really been that bad and his dad had been none the wiser.

 At least until the nurse called him.

 Stiles had just opened his mouth to release an extremely witty retort (if he did say so himself) when the door opened and Dr. Calum walked in.  He was slightly more balding than the last time he had been here, but the man was still all smiles and warmth and he greeted his patient with a firm hug and a clap on the back.  Dr. Calum had been Stiles regular doctor since he had had tonsillitis back when he was in sixth grade and, suffice to say, Stiles ended up sitting on this same table a lot throughout his adolescence for one reason or another.

 “You’ve managed to keep yourself out of here for three or four months Stiles, finally decided to stay mostly out of trouble?” He asked, dumping his miscellaneous supplies and Stiles bulging chart unceremoniously onto the small writing desk in the far corner of the room.   

 “You know me, doc, always living life on the edge.” He replied sarcastically, moving to sit up straighter on the end of the bed and let his legs dangle toward the floor.  Dr. Calum rooted through the chart as he gave Derek a quick once over, clearly not concerned with Stiles odd taste in company.

 “Yes, well some of us are too old to have any of those kinds of adventures anymore,” He joked as he skimmed lightly over the vitals listed on the chart.  “So what ailment brings you in today?  You’ve lost ten pounds since you were here last and you’ve got a bit of a fever, not going too hard and heavy I hope?” He said, clearly taking in Stiles wan form.  He knows that he had lost weight, but surely it wasn’t that much?

“It’s just a cold.” Stiles said firmly, shooting a pointed look over at Derek, “I was forced here against my will by the way.” He told Dr. Calum somberly, hoping to garner at least some sympathy and ignoring another of Derek’s eye rolls resolutely.  The doctor didn’t look completely convinced at his statement, giving Stiles a once over again before turning to Derek.

 “Well done.  He doesn’t always make the best decisions when it comes to his health.”

 “Traitor!  You’re not supposed to side with him!” Stiles spluttered out, not able to ignore the smirk that was curling upwards on Derek’s face before he was forced into looking forward as Dr. Calum shined a light into his eyes.

 “Yes, well, be that as it may, I’m also accurate,” He stated matter-of-factly as he moved to peer into Stiles mouth, “Any normal cold or flu symptoms?  Sore throat, coughing, sneezing, general weakness?  You’re throat isn’t red or raw and seems to be clear.”

 “The weakness maybe,” Stiles muttered, “I haven’t been sleeping too great lately and I’ve been up late a lot studying so I’m tired a lot more.  But some of not sleeping can probably be attributed to the unfortunate fall I suffered the other week.  Twisted my hip.” He admitted as Dr. Calum listened to his heart and lungs.  He could feel the glare burning into him.  He had never really told Derek about getting hurt.

 “Well your heart and lungs are sounding great, so no build up there, another point against your cold theory by the way,” Stiles stuck his tongue out at the man who only chuckled in response.  “How did you go about hurting your hip?” He asked as he pushed Stiles back down onto the table so that he could palpate his abdomen.

 “It’s not that great of a story really.  Scott and I were just goofing off and hiking in the preserve one night and I tripped over a tree root and hit a rock or something.” Not technically a lie, he had tripped over a root and Scott had been there to pick him back up and drag him forward and away from the pack of Alphas that they had been running from.  Being the bait sucked.

 Dr. Calum made a noise in the back of his throat and allowed Stiles to sit back up before rummaging through one of the drawers under the table before plopping a white paper sheet into his lap.

 “I’d like to take a look at the injury, especially since it’s older and it still is bothering you.  So go ahead and take off everything from the waist down and cover up with that.  I’m going to step out, but I’ll be back in a moment.” Dr. Calum said as he gathered up his things and left the room, leaving Stiles to awkwardly hold a sheet and look between the door and Derek.

 “Uhhh…” He began, not exactly sure what he was supposed to say.

 Derek, for his part, just managed to look exasperated, before he stood up and went to stand in the corner opposite of Stiles, looking very pointedly at the journal he still held in his hands. 

 Feeling slightly better now, Stiles quickly slipped off his jeans and boxers (Batman naturally), before quickly settling the sheet over his lap on the table, tossing his things onto the table behind him a coughing slightly to let Derek know that he was done and he could sit back down.

 “Finished?” He asked as he looked up from the journal and over his shoulder.  Stiles just let out a yawn in answer.  He was totally popping some Advil when he got home and passing out on the couch in front of some cartoons as soon as he could get home.  His thoughts of spending the afternoon vegging out were interrupted by Dr. Calum letting himself back into the room.

 “Go ahead and lie back and try to relax, tightening up your muscles could cause things to look and feel different,” He instructed as he pulled on a pair of gloves from the box mounted on the wall.  Stiles did as he was asked, taking deep breaths and relaxing his muscles as he watched Dr. Calum peel the sheet away from his right hip just enough to see.  From the angle, he couldn’t really see anything himself, but the set of Dr. Calum’s lips told him plenty about how his leg looked from a professional stand point.

 Stiles allowed himself a wince as the doctor gently probed around the knot that had formed just over the juncture where his hip and leg met.  “How long has this knot been here?” He asked as he tested the firmness of the red welt.  Stiles thought for a second, trying to remember when he had first seen it.

“Since I fell maybe?  I’m not actually sure, I’ve been really busy lately and I just didn’t notice.”

Dr. Calum hummed low in his throat, taking one last long look at the knot before pulling the paper sheet back over Stiles’ hip and allowing him to sit back up.  He pulled off his gloves with a _snap_ and started to make notations on the chart.  “You can go ahead and get dressed.” He said as he closed up the chart and gathered up his things again.  “I’d like to run some blood work since I’m not finding anything in my initial examination, just a CBC and a chemistry panel to see where your white count is and what your kidney and liver values are.”

“Do you think you’ll find anything?” Stiles’ asked as he accepted the pile of clothes that Derek handed him, not making any move to shimmy into them.

The doctor’s eyebrows crunched briefly, “Maybe.  In any case, it will take about fifteen or twenty minutes to run, so I’m going to send in a nurse to draw the blood and run it and then I’ll go over it with you when it’s done.  I’d also like to get a radiograph of you hip since the knot worries me, but we can set up that appointment when I get back with your results, deal?”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles mumbled as Dr. Calum slipped out of the room and Derek pointedly held the _American Journal of Medicine_ up in front of his face, giving him the privacy to quickly pull on his boxers and pants and slip into his shoes.

“I’m blaming you for this.” He says matter-of-factly as he collapsed back onto the table, staring at the ceiling, vaguely noting that Derek has dropped the magazine to rest in his lap… and oh, look at that.  He hasn’t even bothered to turn the page since the waiting room.

“And how, pray tell, is it my fault that your sick?” And there goes that stupid eyebrow, _god_ they have a language of their _own_!

“Semantics.” He tells Derek solemnly.  “Just so you’re aware, I hate needles.  I passed out the last time I saw one.  Very manly!  I passed out very manly…” He trails off, feeling a slight flush high in his cheekbones and ignores the disbelieving snort that Derek lets out.

“You run with wolves, quite literally may I add, and you’re afraid of a little needle?” Derek asks, a smirk playing up at the corner of his lips, sitting back in the chair and raising his eyebrow again (was that the only expression in his repertoire?) as he observed Stiles.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” He complains, throwing his hands up above his head in a flailing gesture, but rocketing himself up at the tap on the door, blinking as a smiling nurse poked her head in.

“Hello Mr. Stilinski, I’m Terri and I’ll be getting your blood sample today,” She said, smiling as she place her bucket of torture devices, _ahem_ , blood drawing equipment on the table beside Stiles, sticking out a hand for him to shake.  “Have you ever had your blood drawn before?” He took her proffered hand and nodded yes, he had had this done multiple times in the past.  “Excellent!” She beamed at him and she slipped on her gloves and started opening up some sterile packets.  “Can you go ahead and roll your sleeve up past your elbow please?”

"Yeah, no problem.” Stiles muttered, pulling the sleeve of his right arm up and making a point to look anywhere but at the needle she had pulled out but had yet to unwrap.

As soon as his sleeve was up Terri wrapped a tourniquet tightly around it and placed a ball into his hand, positioning his arm and instructing him to give the ball a few good squeezes.  He did this and watched, in sick fascination he may add, as his vein popped up underneath his skin, standing out starkly against his pale pallor in the fluorescent light.  Terri swabbed his inner elbow with an alcohol swab and opened up her needle, grabbing her multi-colored tubes.

Stiles looked away and allowed his other hand to grip tightly on the table, trying to focus on the medical poster on the wall across from him that was browning around the edges where too many hands had touched it and where…

Derek was holding his hand.

  _What?_

 He looked down at his left hand that had been previously clutching at the table but was now gripped in Derek’s strong grasp, following the hand up Derek’s arm and to his face on which there was a look that was so intense Stiles thought he may forget to breath. 

 “Alrighty sweetheart, I’m going to go and get these running, Dr. Calum will be back in with you in a few!” Stiles nearly jumped at Terri’s words, risking a quick look at his arm which had already been bandaged.

 “Thanks.” He said as she whisked out the door, not relinquishing his hold on Derek’s hand as he flopped backwards on the table again, his eyes falling closed and letting the tiredness that he had been holding off seep into his bones and grab hold.  He felt, rather than heard, Derek stand up and start carding through his hair gently with his free hand.

 “You have no idea how amazing that feels.” Stiles said as he leaned back into Derek’s touch, already feeling unconsciousness claiming him.  He wiggled slightly on the table “Don’t let me fall asleep.” He mumbled, fighting to stay awake until they could get back to the car at least.

 “Sleep, Stiles.  I’ll wake you up when the doctor gets back.  I can practically smell your exhaustion.”

 “Not a real thing.” Stiles grumbled as he let himself relax more fully on the table in an effort to get comfortable, the darkness pulling at the edges.

 “And how would you know?” He heard Derek ask, but he was too far gone to provide and answer.

* * *

 Stiles felt even more tired than he had been before when Derek began nudging him awake and pulling him up into a sitting position.  “Time to get up; I can hear him outside the door.” Derek said, and Stiles took a moment to stretch out his aching muscles, hearing the satisfying pops that came from his back and neck.  He couldn’t wait to get back home and curl up under his covers and take a nap.  Maybe Derek would even stay while he slept…

 Whoa.  Back up there creepy.

 Dr. Calum didn’t knock this time; he just pushed the door open and came in, looking studiously at the papers in his hand, his eyebrows crunched up in concentration as he pulled up a seat at the desk and turned his attention to Stiles and Derek.

 “Your chemistry panel seems to be within normal ranges, but your CBC is a bit worrisome.” He said, shuffling his papers around a bit and showing Stiles the red lines on the paper.  “Your white count is extremely elevated which could indicate a number of things, including infections.  However,” He said, consulting his notes, “your lymph nodes are normal, and you have no other evidence of an infection, except the elevated temperature, so I would like to do the x-ray before I put you on any antibiotics.”

 “Why?” Stiles asked, he didn’t really know too much about medicine, that was never his interest, but he was pretty sure that a bump on his hip didn’t really have anything to do with an infection and had nothing to do with antibiotics.  Or an x-ray, he didn’t really think that that would tell them anything about an infection either.  Dr. Calum just gave him a look that was equal parts apologetic and pitying and Stiles felt a hard lump settle into his stomach.

 “It feels to me like there may be a lesion or a growth of some sort on your bone, but whatever it is it is highly abnormal.  Given that along with the odd placement, the symptoms and your family history I feel that the best thing I could do would be to have you evaluated for osteosarcoma before we proceed with any other treatments.  It could be nothing of course, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” 

 All the breath seemed to gush out of Stiles’ lungs, and he fought down the panic that gripped at his chest as a slew of unwanted memories filled his head.  His mother in a hospital bed, looking weaker and weaker by the day, his father looking more and more gaunt as the disease progressed and stole his wife away, the funeral where everyone had been wearing all black and a suit that didn’t fit after his crazy growth spurt…

 “Cancer?” He asked, barely feeling Derek’s hand on his shoulder as he tightened his grip.  “You think that this is…?  That I have…?”

“This is just one possibility out of many, but yes, I think that this could be the cause of your symptoms.  In any case, the sooner that we diagnosis it the better the options for treatment as this progresses very quickly in teenagers.  I’ve set you up an appointment with Dr. West, one of the oncologists at Beacon Hills General for an hour from now.  She’ll take the x-rays and evaluate them and set up a plan for you from there.”

“In the case that he turns out to be nothing more than a bump,” He continued, “then she’ll make sure that you get the medications that you need and send you home okay?”

Stiles just nodded dumbly, still focusing on keeping his breathing normal, reaching up to grip onto Derek’s hand that was still resting on his shoulder.

Dr. Calum looked on sympathetically, “Do you want me to call your dad?  I can let him know what’s going on and send him to meet you at the hospital?”

“Please,” Stiles heard Derek say, his voice sounding flat and far away, “That would really be appreciated.”

“No problem at all.” Dr. Calum responded as he moved over to pull Stiles into a gentle hug (complete with the pity back rub and everything) before gathering up his things and wishing Stiles well as he slipped quietly out of the room.

Derek allowed him another few minutes of sitting in silence to control and compose himself before nearly picking him up to put him on the floor.  “Come on, on your feet now,” He said as he put a comforting arm around his waist, wrapping him up in warmth and the smell of fresh pine and something spicy that he always associated with the older werewolf, and leading him out the door.  Stiles allowed Derek to pull him with him out the door and down the hallway and out the doors into the bright parking lot.

The Camero sat where Derek had left it, looking dark and dangerous as always, but Stiles paid no mind to this as he allowed Derek to push him into the car and close the door.  Derek got in on his own his own side and put the keys in the ignition but made no move to turn on the car.

“Are you okay?”

No was the easy answer to this, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk.  Stiles could feel the corner of his eyes burning and he wiped viciously at them.  He was not going to cry, damn it.  There wasn’t even a set diagnosis yet, he wasn’t going to be a girl and cry over nothing.  Doctor’s got things wrong all the time.

He shook his head in a quick jerk, but gave no answer other than that.  He looked out the window quickly, not feeling up to making eye contact with anybody, but squeezing back tightly when he felt Derek’s fingers thread through his. 

“Everything is going to be okay, no matter what happens alright?  We’ll get you through this.  I’ll get you through this.” He said the last part quietly, but Stiles felt something warm burst forth in his chest at the words and he let some of the tension leak out of his body as he sat back in his seat, flashing a small and watery smile Derek’s way as he started the car and began to drive them in the direction of Beacon Hills Memorial.

“Yeah, it’ll be okay.”

* * *

It turns out that getting your hip x-rayed is not nearly as fun as it sounds when advertised.  Not that it really sounds particularly fun to begin with.

They had checked in with Mrs. McCall at the desk after they had arrived (and had sat in the car for an indiscernible amount of time so that Stiles could psych himself up) and she had promptly come around the desk to pull him into a tight hug.  The worst thing about small towns was the rumor mill he decided, because everybody knew everything about everybody else in a matter of minutes.

He was ushered toward the x-ray suite where he had to leave Derek sitting in the waiting room with a harassed mother and her children, one of which was clearly nursing a broken arm while the others ran around and knocked things over.  The technician greeted him and handed him an extremely unfashionable paper gown to wear in the place of his clothes. 

Thankfully it had a back to it.

He left his things behind the curtain in the room and lay down as he was directed on the table in the center of the room.  The machine above him was smaller than he thought it would be and he focused solidly on this fact as the technician pulled up part of the gown to examine the growth on his hip and then began to position the machine.

“Alright,” she said, shooting him a reassuring smile, “Just hold really still for me so that I can take the shot and we’ll be done.” She disappeared behind a wall and he heard a click that accompanied a brief flash of light and it was over.  The technician told him that he was done and he quickly (and he was pretty relieved to be honest) changed back into his clothes before going back out to the waiting room to sit with Derek, who looked irritated even though the woman and her children were gone.

“You good?” Stiles asked as he fell into the chair next to Derek, leg bouncing up and down.  He didn’t really do fantastically with stressful situations like this.  Derek just game him an incredulous look.

“You’re not seriously asking if I’m okay are you?”

“I suppose I am.” Stiles said, shrugging and leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

“Yeah,” Derek responded, “I’m good.”  He gave Stiles another glance out the side of his eye.  “So are we just waiting here or…?”

“They’ll come find us when they’ve read the x-ray.”

The conversation pretty much wound down after that, with Derek taking the time to peruse the sparse selection of old and torn magazines (they were probably covered in E. coli or something like that) and Stiles alternating between staring at the wall, and looking up and down the hallway, leg bouncing all the while.  After about fifteen minutes, he let out a loud sigh and started drumming his fingers on the chair arm in a discordant rhythm to the one he was tapping out with his foot.

“Oh shut up.” Derek complained under his breath, and reached out and grabbed onto Stiles hand, effectively holding it still.  Stiles stopped all movement and just stared at their linked hands, the stress slowly leaking out of him.

“Thanks.” He said, Derek declined to comment, but the corners of his lips up turned slightly.

Stiles didn’t have much longer to consider these developments, as a pretty, blonde doctor (he could only assume based on the white coat that she wore) walked up to them and asked “Mr. Stilinski?”.

“Stiles,” He told her shaking her hand with the one that Derek had just freed.  “Dr. West?” He questioned.

“Yep, if you’ll just follow me we can go over your scans okay?” Stiles nodded and stood up to follow her down the hall to her office.  She closed the door behind Derek and gestured for them to take the two chairs that were positioned in front of her desk. 

Dr. West moved around to sit behind her desk and began to click away at her computer, “Ok, Stiles, I’m going to go over your x-rays with you and then we’ll talk about our next steps.” The screen to the side of her desk lit up with the pictures of his hip and, even with no medical training, he could clearly see a growth that extend from the outer area of his leg and into the top of his femur.  Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s hand as a lump settled firmly into his stomach.

“This is the lesion that Dr. Calum felt and was so worried about during your exam, and, as you can see here,” she said as she zoomed in on the growth where his hip and leg met, “you have a tumor like growth that seems to have invaded the cartilage that surrounds the ball of your femur.”  She turned off the screen and settled back into her chair, looking between Stiles and Derek.

“Your scans are consistent with chondroblastic osteosarcoma, a type of cancer that affects the hyline cartilage that surrounds the long bones in your body.  This being the case, I’d like to do an MRI and a PET scan to do a more through scan of your body and to be sure that the cells haven’t moved to any other organs in your body followed by a biopsy to confirm before we start treatment.”   

“So that’s what you’re thinking then?  That this is… that the tumor is…?” Stiles stuttered out, feeling his chest tighten again and the air around him grow cold as he stared into her eyes, the majority of him hoping that this was a cruel joke.

Dr. West gave him a sad look.  “Yes.  In my opinion, I believe that this is cancer and that you have a very aggressive tumor, but I want to run some more tests to be sure.  Since this is very aggressive, I’d like to go ahead and admit you and do your scans this afternoon.  After I interpret them, I’ll schedule you for the biopsy, probably for tomorrow if the scans show what I think they will and then, depending on the stage, we will discuss either chemotherapy or radiation to shrink the tumor before we take it out.”

“Why can’t you take it out when you do the biopsy?” Stiles asked, still feeling numb to the whole ordeal.

“We would never be able to get clean margins and allow you to keep your leg.  As it is now, there would be no way to save the limb and you would still have a strong chance that the cancer would come back.  We want to shrink it down first and then remove it.”

“I could lose my leg?” And, yep, his voice totally just cracked.  That hadn’t happened since he was thirteen years old, and, god, were those tears causing his vision to go blurry?  _Man up Stilinski!_

“There is a chance that you could lose your leg and part of your hip as well, but I prefer to stay positive.  I’ve seen about twenty cases of osteosarcoma since I started practicing and only four of those had any sort of amputation.  Modern medicine has progressively improved over the years and I have high hopes for you, so let’s not cross that bridge until we come to it, alright?” Stiles nodded silently and tightened his grip on Derek’s hand.  “I’m going to go call up to imaging and get you scheduled for your MRI and PET scan and I’ll have someone come and take you up to have those done and to get you admitted.  Do you have a parent coming to meet you or do you want me to call someone for you?”

“His father will be here as soon as he can get off work.” Derek answered for him, letting go of Stiles’ hand to rub gentle circles on his back and, would you look at that, Stiles didn’t even realize that his breathing was shortening up again.

“Excellent.  When he arrives I’ll go over the scans and the pre-op blood work with you and let you know when your biopsy is.  I’ll have our orthopedic surgeon join us to go over the procedure with you as well, okay?”

“Yep, sounds good.” Stiles mumbled, gripping onto the chair arms to control the trembling in his hands.  Dr. West’s expression moved to one of pity and she came over to give him a loose hug.

“I think that we caught this pretty early, all things considered, but let’s not worry until we have to.  The survival rate for stage III osteosarcoma is still seventy percent which is higher than most types of cancer.  If this is stage I or II like I suspect then the odds skyrocket to up to eighty-five percent.  That’s higher than some viral diseases!  So don’t worry, we’ll find a way to fix this.” Stiles didn’t really trust himself to speak so he nodded into her shoulder and squeezed his arms slightly tighter around her.  She released him and gave him a smile as she grabbed his chart and bustled from the room.

The door had barely closed before Stiles had latched himself onto Derek, letting a few silent tears leak onto the other mans shoulder.  Derek tensed for a second before he cautiously wrapped his own arms around Stiles. 

“I don’t know if it will cure you, but if you want it, I’ll give you the bite.” Derek said, pulling Stiles back to look him in the eye.

“Even if I agreed, it could still kill me.  Not to mention that the bite isn’t an absolute cure all, I could still end up with cancer, or the bite could accelerate the growth.” Stiles said quietly picking at a string on the sleeve of his shirt.  “Besides, I’ve never wanted to be a wolf, I want to be human.”

Derek nodded, “I thought that you would say that.” He pulled Stiles closer again, but Stiles wiggled back, looking Derek in the eye.

“I want you to promise me something.”

“We are not doing this now Stiles.” Derek growled, his grip becoming painful on Stiles arms.  “You aren’t on your deathbed and you aren’t allowed to ask me to do you favors like that.”

"Okay,” Stiles whispered, sinking back into Derek’s arms and allowing himself to relax into his warm chest.  He felt Derek reach a hand up to run through his hair and it ached Stiles to think that he may not have hair anymore in a month.

 After another ten minutes or so, Ms. McCall let herself into the office and pulled Stiles into another hug, hers was strong and firm, and she was the only person besides Derek who had not acted like she pitied him; another reason why he absolutely _loved_ Scott’s mom.  She had really become a surrogate mother to him over the years as well.

 When she pulled back, she gently wiped away a rogue tear with her thumb, “You’re not alone in this, Stiles.” She told him firmly, cradling his face between her hands.  “No matter what, everything is going to be okay, we’re all here for you.”

 “Thanks.” Stiles said, gently pulling away from her hands.  “My dad-”

 “I just got off the phone with him.  There was a pretty bad pile up on the interstate and he’s helping clear that up, but he said he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

 “Thanks.” Stiles said again as he followed Ms. McCall out into the hallway and down to the elevator.

 “No problem sweetheart.” She said smiling at him as she ushered both him and Derek onto the lift and pressed the button for the third floor.  “Now, we normally don’t allow family or non-family to stay with the patient when they are having the scans done, but I believe that we can make an exception in this case.” The elevator dinged and they were led off and down the hall a little ways until they stop in front of an empty exam room.

 “I’m going to get you admitted and draw your blood before we go get the scans done.” She bustled around the room, pulling out some supplies before producing a mint green robe from somewhere.  “Not exactly the most attractive outfit, but at least it doesn’t open in the back.” She teased, handing the robe to Stiles.

 “This thing is awful.” He whined, wrinkling his nose.  “Don’t you have anything like sweatpants?” Derek let out a snort behind him from where he had settled into a chair in the corner.

 “Nope.” Ms. McCall said, pushing him behind the curtain that surround the exam table and handing him a large plastic bag.  “You can put your stuff in there.  We normally don’t allow electronics either, but I may not see you handing your phone over to Derek.” She said, looking away pointedly.  Stiles, for his part, looked relieved and shoved his phone into Derek’s waiting hands before shutting the curtain and stripping off his clothes, shuddering as he tied the robe and then removed his boxers.  He did not look forward to free balling it for the next however long he was stuck in here.

 Feeling decently composed, Stiles pulled back the curtain and set the bag on the floor next to Derek, before taking his own seat on the table and looking away as Ms. McCall prepped his arm and then began to draw blood.

 “Alright kiddo, I’m going to pass these off to the lab and I’ll be back.” She bustled out of the room, closing the door behind her.

 “I think I’m going to miss the pack meeting Friday.” Stiles blurted out. 

“What?” Derek asked, looking confused, causing Stiles to let out a burst of laughter.

“The pack meeting this Friday?  You know?  The one that you require so you can ‘encourage pack bonding’?  I think I’m going to miss it.  And every one after it.  Indefinitely.”

“We’ll have it here if you’re up to it.” Derek said, eyebrow quirked up.  “It’s not like I could drag that unruly bunch of cubs out of here for a meeting anyway once they find out.”

Stiles’ stomach dropped.  “How do I tell them?” He whispered, watching his legs swinging back and forth.

“I’ll do it.  I’ve already called a meeting for later tonight anyway.  Scott knows already, his mom told him earlier.” He explained to Stiles astonished look.  “He’ll stay here with you until I’m done with the pack and then I’ll be back.” He gave Stiles a considering look.  “She’s right, you know?  You’ll never be alone here; someone will be with you, even if we have to sneak in through the window.”

Stiles filled with warmth.  So this was what pack meant.  It was like the huge family he had never had, he would always have a friend with him, whether he wanted them there or not.

“Thanks.”

Ms. McCall came back shortly after that, accompanied by both Scott and a wheelchair.  Scott knocked the breath out of him with a huge hug, but smiled genuinely at him, proving, once again, why Scott was his best friend.

“Dude,” He exclaimed in mock peevishness, “Is this payback for me spending more time with Allison?  If you wanted more attention, all you had to do was ask!”

Stiles rolled his eyes at his best friend’s antics.  “Yes,” Stiles said, hand flying to his forehead like a damsel in distress, “I couldn’t stand you being with someone else!  I thought what we had was special!”

Scott sniggered at him and fist bumped him.  “No one will ever replace you, Stiles!” He said dramatically, striking a pose.

“Yes, yes, this is all very adorable, but we are running on a schedule here.” Ms. McCall said, taping her watch with a faux exasperated look on her face and gesturing at the chair by her elbow.  “In you get, and no _wheelchair races_!” She said, pointing a finger at both boys who were trying to look innocently away.

“Do I really need to?  I mean, I can still walk.” Stiles said, not yet standing from where he was still seated on the table.

“Hospital policy,” Ms. McCall stated, “it’s either this or a stretcher, your choice.”

“Can I at least roll myself?” Stiles asked as he got off the table and attempted to settle into the chair.

“You don’t even know where you’re going.” Ms. McCall reminded him as she took hold of the handles on the chair and Stiles sighed and resigned himself to be pushed around like an invalid.  A dark part of his mind rebelled and reminded him that that was, indeed, what he was, but he suppressed it quickly.

Getting his scans done wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be, just boring really.  For the MRI, he just laid still for what felt like forever, but the PET scan required that his arms be positioned and strapped down a certain way to make sure that his torso was visible and his biceps and shoulders ached by the end of it.

So, by the time Ms. McCall had gotten him settled into a private room in the oncology ward, Stiles was very nearly asleep.  Derek had stepped out to call his dad, leaving Scott to invite himself onto the bed to curl up next to Stiles.

“Never pegged you for a cuddler.” Stiles slurred as he felt his eyelids drop.  Scott just rubbed his face against Stiles arm.

“Wolves are tactile creatures.” He said in explanation.  And that was the last thing Stiles heard as he slipped into sleep, Scott’s weight warm and comforting at his side.

* * *

Stiles woke up feeling warm and comfortable, and slightly annoyed by some anonymous beeping that was coming from his right.  What in the name of all things holy _was_ that?

He blearily opened his eyes and tilted his head to glare at the heart monitor that someone must have hooked him up to while he was sleeping.  Seriously?  They really needed to know what his heartbeat was when nothing had even happened yet?

“Stiles?”

And there we go, instant guilt trip.  Stiles turned to look at his dad, who was seated in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed, and felt horrible at the absolutely _shattered_ look on his face.  His dad hadn’t looked like that since his mom…

And here come the tears.  Again.

“I’m so sorry.” Was all Stiles was able to stutter out before his dad was pulling him into a tight embrace and rubbing his back soothingly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me?” John told him, pulling back to look his son right in the eye, “None of this is your fault, do you understand?”

“But-”

“No buts.  This isn’t your fault and we are going to fix this, no matter what.” Stiles melted into his dad’s firm embrace, returning it with as much strength as he could muster.

“Yeah, we will.” John clung to his son for a few more seconds before letting go and settling back into the chair.  “What time is it?” Stiles asked, scanning to room for a clock.

“Almost six; Derek and Scott stepped out to grab dinner about two hours ago when I got here, but they should be back soon.  Ms. McCall stopped by about thirty minutes ago to let me know that Dr. West will be meeting with us soon to go over your scans and to check on you.  She says that you’re already tentatively scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning at seven-thirty, but Dr. West should let us know more when she comes by.”

“She said that it was too big to take out.” Stiles told his father in an emotionless voice.  “It must have been growing for months and I didn’t even… I never noticed it.  I didn’t pay attention.  After mom you would think…” He took a couple deep breathes.  “Everything’s been so crazy these last few months, but I should have noticed this!  Scott was the one who picked up something was wrong!  _Scott_!  And we all know how oblivious he can be…”

“Rude!”

Stiles groaned… speak of the devil…

“I’m not oblivious!  I totally notice what’s going on!  Tell him Derek!” Scott protested as he plopped himself back down on Stiles’ left side, unceremoniously pushing his friend over some.  Derek just plopped down in the other chair in the room.

“Well…” The Alpha trailed off, “You’ve kind of learned to use your senses… when a certain someone isn’t around.”

Stiles sniggered at the wounded look on Scott’s face, “You’re supposed to take my side!” Scott whined at Derek, who just shrugged and greeted Sheriff Stilinski.  Stiles decided that it was a very good thing that the two of them were getting along and working towards a common goal.

“The pack says ‘hi’,” Derek said to Stiles, “They want to be here, but I told them it might be a little overwhelming for all nine of us to squeeze into this room tonight while you’re settling in.  I told them to visit in spurts over the next few days, which no one agreed with, so they’ll all be here tomorrow.” Stiles looked vaguely horrified at that and Derek held up his hands quickly, “I at least talked them into short visits and they’ll come two at a time instead of the whole group at once.”

“All of them?” Stiles asked in wonder.  He knew now that he was pack, but he still didn’t really think that he was that integral of a member.  He didn’t really expect visitors.  Derek frowned.

“I can forbid them from coming for a while if you want.” He offered cautiously and Stiles balked.

“Of course not!  They’re pack!”  Stiles saw the smile flit quickly across Derek’s face as he nodded.

After that the conversation dissolved into talking about summer plans and what Derek was planning on teaching the pack.  John still had a number of questions that he wanted to ask the Alpha and spent quite a bit of time quizzing him on what had been going on the last year and a half.  They were just discussing Gerard Argent when Dr. West and another doctor breezed through the door.

“How are you doing Stiles, settling in?” She asked as she checked the monitors and made some notations in the chart she held.  She didn’t seem at all phased by the amount of people in the room.  “I’ve had a chance to look over your scans and I have a bit of good news.” She continued as she pulled over the computer that she had brought with her, pulling the scans up and turning it so he could see them.

“The good news is that, according to your PET scan, the cancer has not spread to any other part of your body.  This variety spreads very easily so this is pretty miraculous; we’ll be doing scans once a week throughout treatment, but this is definitely a good sign.” She smiled encouragingly at him.  “However,” She continued, flipping to a different scan, “it appears the tumor is more invasive than we could see on the x-ray, so, after the biopsy to confirm, we’re going to start you on a fairly aggressive treatment.”  She flipped off the machine and sat on the edge of the bed so that she could speak easier to Stiles and his father.  

“Tentatively, we’d like to start you on chemotherapy twice a week for ten weeks, and, if all goes well and the tumor shirks, we’ll take it out.  After that, you’ll need to stay on the chemotherapy once a week for three months and then we’ll reevaluate.” She looked between the two to see if they had any questions before continuing, “We’ll keep you admitted for the first three or so treatments to see how you respond and then you’ll be able to go home and only come in on your treatment days.”

She stood up and gestured to the other doctor with her.  “This is Dr. Torres, our orthopedic surgeon and she’ll be going over your procedure for tomorrow.”

Dr. Torres shook his hand and his dad’s before leaning against the bed frame and pulling the x-ray from earlier up.  “So, basically, what I’m going to do is an open biopsy.  I’m going to make a small incision over the tumor and cut out a piece of it to send to the lab.  We’ll have you under general anesthesia for this and, if the results come back positive, then our surgeon who specializes in radiology procedures will put a port into your carotid, right above your clavicle so that you don’t have to worry about having an IV put in every time you come for a treatment.  Any questions?” She asked, looking at the whole group of them.  

“What’s the down time for this procedure?” Stiles asked, rubbing at his leg.  “Will I be able to put any weight on my leg right afterward or will I need physical therapy?”

“That depends,” Dr. Torres said, “If I can get a piece off the top pretty easily, then I’d say we can have you up and moving around in a few days.  If the tumor has become more boney, then I may have to deeper in and take more.  I don’t really want to do this because it can be pretty risky and, if not done perfectly, then your leg could be permanently damaged.”

“How many of these procedures have you done?” Stiles father asked slowly, looking at his son with poor concealed worry on his face.

“Between thirty and fifty I would estimate.  It’s pretty rare to have osteosarcoma in the ball of the femur, and all cases are different.  I really can’t say what yours will be like until I’m in there looking at it.” She said, giving him an apologetic look.  “But, if I had to guess based just on the x-rays, I feel like this will be an easy procedure.  I have high hopes for you.” She told Stiles smiling and standing up from the bed.

“Any more questions?” Dr. West asked the group, when none came she nodded.  “Nurse McCall is going to be in soon to place your IV catheter.  You’ll only have to keep it in a day or so.  Once the port is in place, we can feed your fluids and other IV medication through that.  I’m also going to go ahead and start you on a low dose of fluids since you’re slightly dehydrated.” She flipped over a page in the chart.  “Dr. Calum mentioned that you had been slightly painful and not able to sleep well.  Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

Stiles thought for a second.  “It may be a three or four at the worst, it’s mostly just discomfort.” He said, keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him.

Dr. West nodded.  “I’m going to get you started on a low dose of buprenorphine as well.  It’ll help you sleep tonight and help with the pain tomorrow after the surgery.” She made another notation on her chart.  “Alright Stiles, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow!  You can have a nurse page me if you need anything!” She shook their hands again and swept from the room, leaving Stiles to collapse back onto the bed.

“I guess it’s a good thing that school’s out for the next few months.” Stiles said, eyes flashing to Scott and Derek and back.

“Just wait until you’re home,” Scott promised him, “We’ll have Call of Duty marathons!  And movie marathons!  Whatever you want to do; we can finally watch all the Star Wars movies!”

"You _still_ haven’t seen those?” Stiles asked, arms flailing slightly.  Even Derek looked surprised.

“I’ve seen all of those.” He commented nonchalantly.

“See?” Stiles gestured wildly in Derek’s direction.  “Even sourwolf has seen Star Wars!  And he lives under a rock!” John let out a bark of laughter while Derek glowered at him.

“I don’t live under a rock.” He grouched, crossing his arms.  Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“Who are the Avengers?”

Derek just narrowed his eyes and refused to answer.

“I rest my case.” Stiles said victoriously.  Prompting the room to break into laughter (except for Derek, but it was established that he was a party pooper anyway). 

“I feel like I’m missing the party.” Ms. McCall said as she walked in the room carrying a small basket of supplies that she promptly dumped onto the bed next to Stiles.

“Just picking at Scott; he hasn’t seen Star Wars you know.” Melissa rolled her eyes and took Stiles right arm in her hand, eyeing the back of his hand before placing a tourniquet around his forearm. 

“I tried to raise him well, but what can you do?” She said, shrugging.

“Hey!” Scott intoned, which raised another round of laughter, somewhat forced on Stiles part as he looked everywhere but at the equipment that Ms. McCall was prepping.

“Don’t tense up.” She admonished as she scrubbed his hand with alcohol, testing the vein with a gloved finger.  “You’ll make it hurt more.” With that she unwrapped the catheter and checked the vein again.  Stiles turned away and focused on relaxing.

“I’m starting to feel like a pin cushion.” Stiles told Scott, who was only inches away from his face, trying not to be obvious as he watched his mom.  Stiles rolled his eyes.  Leave to Scott to be fascinated by everything medical, he was surprised that he hadn’t asked to watch the surgery.  Maybe he still would.

“Sorry kiddo.” Ms. McCall said behind him, and he felt the cool prick of the needle on his skin.  He let out a shaky breath and took another one in as he felt the cold steel slide out of its plastic covering and then felt some sort of adhesive affix the foreign thing to his hand.  Deciding the worst was over, Stiles dared to take a look.

It was worse than he suspected.  The catheter stood out grotesquely against his pale skin and he looked away again quickly, his stomach rolling uneasily.  He chose to watch Ms. McCall prep his lovely fluid bags instead.

“Once I get the fluids hooked up I’m going to give you a shot of the buprenorphine, it’ll go in IV as well.” She said as she ran the IV line through a machine and then hooked it up to his hand.  “You’ll probably feel pretty sleepy afterward, so don’t fight it and just go on to sleep, you have an early morning tomorrow.” She told him as she prepped a small syringe of the clear liquid and pushed the needle into the port on the line.  “This might sting a bit.” She warned before pushing down the plunger and removing the needle.

Stiles’ hand twitched slightly as he, indeed, felt the sting of the medication running through his veins.  Ms. McCall disposed of her gloves and hazardous items before gathering up her things again.  “I’ll come back and check up on you in a couple hours, just page me if you need me.” She said, before exchanging a few words with his father and exiting the room.

The Sheriff stood up and stretched, looking down at Stiles.  “I’ll be right back; I’m going to grab some coffee.” He said as he made his way toward the door.

“You should go home and get some rest dad.” Stiles admonished, giving his father a severe look.  “By staying here all you’re going to do is mess up your back and watch me snore.  There will be plenty of other chances for you to hover over my sickbed, but you just pulled a double and I know you _have_ to be tired.”

“But-” John began, clearly gearing up for a big argument.

“I’ll watch him.” Derek said from where he was sitting, standing up as well.  “I’ll watch him and, if anything happens, I’ll call you.  I can hear everything that’s happening in his body right now, I’ll be able to tell if something’s wrong before the doctors.”

“And you’ll call me.” John said, rubbing at his eyes.

“Of course,” Derek answered like it was the most obvious thing ever.  “I’m the Alpha; it’s my job to watch after my pack.” John looked back and forth between Stiles and Derek before finally sighing in resignation.

“Fine.  But I’ll be back at six-thirty tomorrow morning.” He said, coming over to the bed to give Stiles another firm hug.

“There’s some zucchini bake in the fridge.” Stiles told him with a smile.  His father groaned.

“I hate zucchini bake.” He complained as he pulled on his coat.  Stiles scoffed.

“You know who doesn’t hate zucchini bake?  Your arteries.  They absolutely love zucchini bake.” Scott coughed out a laugh at the wince the Sheriff gave his son.

“Fine.  Just this once.” He said, ruffling Stiles and Scott’s hair and shaking Derek’s hand on the way out the door, grumbling the whole time.

With his dad gone, Stiles sank back into the bed, he was beginning to feel tired, but he wasn’t ready to sleep yet.  Plus Scott was so close to him he was almost in his lap.

“What are you doing?” He asked as he attempted to put some space between them.  Scott resolutely moved with him.

“You smell funny.  Like hospital and sickness and not like pack.  I can’t help it; I just want to make you smell like us again.”  

“You can’t be serious.” Stiles deadpanned, trying to shove Scott away enough to have some breathing room and looking over to Derek.  The Alpha just shrugged.

“He has a point.  You do smell funny.” He wrinkled his nose slightly at this.  “He also hasn’t been a wolf long enough to have the will power to not try to smother you.”

Stiles gave his friend another firm shove when he felt Scott’s face rubbing on his shoulder.  “Ugh, okay I totally get the whole scent marking thing, really.  I totally do.  But I’m not going to have all of you trying to lie all over me.  Especially not creepy Uncle Peter.  You hear me Derek?  You keep creepy Uncle Peter away!”

Derek just rolled his eyes, “Go to sleep Stiles.” He said, grabbing Scott by his scruff and dragging him out of the bed and into the other chair.

“’M not tired.” Stiles yawned out, his body rebelling against him.  Derek just raised an eyebrow at him.  “Fine.  Whatever sourwolf.” And, closing his eyes, Stiles slipped into the darkness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot's of medical stuff to muddle through here, sorry! But there is also hurt/comfort and angst and some Sterek so its not a total loss. Warnings for some language and for teenage boys being teenage boys.

Stiles wasn’t nervous about the procedure itself- ah who was he kidding.  He was terrified, but that was mostly because he wasn’t allowed to have his phone or laptop to the adequate amount of research (AKA six plus hours).  He knew that it was ‘simple’ as the doctors said quick in and quick out, he’d never know they were there, but he felt pretty sure he’d remember all the pre-op preparations and who the hell knew what that entailed?  He had been trying to think back to his mom, but he couldn’t remember anything about what happened to her before surgery (he only remembered the bad parts, where she couldn’t leave the bed, and she wasted away, and he couldn’t even _hug_ her because the chemo made it really easy for her to bruise and that could cause her to bleed out and oh _god_ that would probably happen to him too right?) but he was way too young for them to expose him to any of that so he just couldn’t remember.

 Which led to his mini freak out when Ms. McCall came into his room at about six o’clock the next morning and banished Scott and Derek from his room so she could do her part of his pre-op exam. 

 It was pretty embarrassing that everyone could hear how much his heart rate sped up now.

 The shrill beeping that issued from the monitor drew in the gaze of the sleepy werewolves that were taking their time exiting the room, and Stiles refused to meet their worried gaze, just kept his head down until he heard the door close firmly behind them.

 “I need you to calm down, okay Stiles?” Ms. McCall said as she went about checking his IV line and port.  She had learned over time that by continuing about her business as normal she could help bring Stiles down from an impending panic attack.  It had really helped him out a lot as a kid to not have everyone treating him like he was made of glass.  It was probably because she had dealt with Scott’s asthma for so long that she was able to help him too.  As he took deep breaths through his nose, he felt a rush of affection for her; she had really become like a second mother to him over the years.

 After a couple minutes of her fiddling around with his fluids and chart, Ms. McCall pulled her stethoscope out of her pocket and helped him sit up straight so that she could listen to his heart and lungs.  “I know that you’re nervous, but it’ll go by really fast and you’ll be back in here before you know it.  I wouldn’t estimate the procedure going over three hours.”  She put the scope back around her neck and pulled out a tongue depressor and a light from her pocket to look down his throat and Stiles fought against his gag reflex.  “If it makes you feel any better, your pre-op exam is half over, Dr. Torres just has to look at you leg and you’ll be done.”  

 She removed the depressor and gave him a smile.  “You doing alright?”

 “I’m good.  Or I will be.” He said with a small smile at her.  She just nodded firmly and told him to relax and she would send in Dr. Torres in a minute.  She patted his cheek as she left the room and then barked at Derek and Scott, who were clearly lurking just outside the door, to go down to the cafeteria to retrieve coffee for her and the sheriff and, no, they couldn’t go back and see Stiles yet.

 Stiles just yawned at this.  He had fallen asleep early last night, around eight if he remembered correctly, but he had been restless and had been awake off and on until about four-thirty when he had just given up on sleep altogether and settled in to watch the two wolves sleep.  Scott slept like he always did: mouth agape and drooling all over Stiles sheets from where his upper body had slumped forward to rest with his forehead pressed against Stiles thigh, completely graceless.  Derek was the exact opposite, however.  He was seated completely upright, arms and ankles crossed.  Even his head was completely upright, he could have been awake if it wasn’t for the fact that he was snoring softly.  Did the man never just let go and relax?

 He was lucky that he didn’t have to wait overly long with just his thoughts for company as Dr. Torres entered the room not five minutes after Ms. McCall left it (wearing dark blue scrubs instead of the business casual ensemble she had been wearing the day before).  She greeted him brightly before she slipped a hard copy of his x-ray on the light up screen on the wall next to him and he was briefly distracted by the size of his tumor.

 “How are you doing this morning Stiles?  Sleep well?” She asked, her smile bright and good grief she was a morning person, gross.

 “A bit tired, but good overall.” He replied, eyes still drawn to the x-ray on the wall.  It was hard to believe that it was _his_ , the tumor was so large, and how could he not have noticed that it was growing?  And that sent an awful shiver through him, it was _his_ tumor and he never even knew it was there until Scott had pointed out that he smelled different.  He didn’t want to have a tumor!  He wanted to have a broken leg and an awesome cast for the pack to doodle all over.

 “Have you got any questions about the procedure?  If not, I’ll just give the surgical area a quick peak and then I’ll let your dad and friends back in to sit with you.” He just shook his head ‘no’, not really trusting his mouth and just sat and wondered when it became normal for him to not feel weird when someone pretty much exposed all of him and got up close and personal with an area that was pretty freaking close to his groin.

 Thankfully, Dr. Torres was quick to examine and feel his hip (and she kept him mostly covered) before she pulled the gown back down and covered him up.

 “Everything looks good, so you just sit here and relax with your family and some nurses will be by in ten or so minutes to take you up to pre-op and we can get this show started okay?” She smiled winningly at him and placed a quick pat on his knee before she, too, left the room, stopping to shake his dad’s hand (and what was it with all the people creeping outside his door today?) before she dropped off his chart at the nurse’s station and started to talk to someone.

 His dad shuffled into the room after that, nursing a steaming cup of coffee (Stiles would bet anything that it was full of real sugar and not the splenda that he insisted they use at home) and took the chair that Scott had vacated earlier.  Stiles just gave the coffee cup a dirty look, “I really hope for your sake that that’s decaf and it’s black.” He said bluntly.

 “C’mon kid!” His dad complained, taking a very large gulp of the offending substance as if he thought that would hide the smirk on his face, “It’s just one cup, what’s one little cup of caffeinated coffee going to do?” Stiles just narrowed his eyes at him.

 “You just wait until I’m home and I can cook again.  Then you’ll be sorry, we are so going to be eating broccoli casserole and edamame burgers for the next month.” He threatened, causing his father to wince and reconsider the drink in his hand before taking another sip of it anyway. 

 "Are you doing okay this morning?”

Stiles resisted the urge to fiddle with his blanket or chew on his fingernails, settling for clasping his hands into fists.  “Yep, I’m good.  Kinda wish I had my Adderall so that I could focus and a laptop to take all that focus out on, at least then I could use my pent up energy on something productive.”  

“Yeah, I don’t really think that they’re going to let you have anything that they don’t prescribe to you for a little while.” Sheriff Stilinski said and Stiles cringed.  He remembered that he had refused to take his medicine after his mother died and he remembered how sick he had been because of the withdrawal.  He had lost a lot of weight, he hadn’t slept and he had been sick and miserable for days when he had been on the normal dosage.  He wasn’t on the normal dosage now, it was odd for a day to go by where he didn’t double or triple his recommended amount supplemented with copious amounts of caffeine.

Yeah, this was really going to suck.

“Melissa says that the doctors won’t let anyone back in pre-op except for authorized personal, so I won’t be able to go with you any farther than this.” His father said.  Stiles shot him a questioning look and opened his mouth, but his dad cut him off, “She also sent Scott and Derek home to shower and change, so they said to tell you that they’ll be here when you wake up later.  I suspect that only Scott listened and Derek is actually just going to stay in the parking lot.” He said, craning his neck to look out the window and Stiles snorted in laughter.

“I’m actually impressed that she was able to make them leave the building.” Stiles mused between snickers.  Derek was just as stubborn as he was (with the added benefit of strength and intimidation to back it up) and he never did anything unless he wanted to do it.

“I’m not.  Melissa can be pretty scary.” The sheriff responded, taking another gulp of his coffee and frowning when he realized that it was empty.

They both lapsed into silence after that, something that Stiles wasn’t really used to with his dad.  They had always been able to talk to each other comfortably and Stiles ADHD pretty much caused him to fill in any silence around him with words and flailing actions, especially after his dad had been brought into the know about werewolves.  Things had gotten so much better and he had felt really liberated to be able to say ‘going to a pack meeting’ instead of ‘going to Scott’s to do homework’ when they both knew it was a blatant lie.

Conversation had been really strained since the day before and Stiles knew that it was partially his fault.  His dad was always on edge in hospitals because of all the bad memories attached to them and here they were, camped out in the oncology ward again, only Stiles was confined to the bed and they were in a room that looked just like his mom’s and they were going to poison his body with the same treatment that ultimately made his mother a shell of her once lively self.

Fantastic.

So Stiles guessed that it was fortunate that they only had to sit and stare at each other in awkward silence for a couple minutes before two nurses came through the door with a stretcher to take Stiles to pre-op.  He could hear his heartbeat pick up when his dad leaned in to give him a bone crushing hug that lasted longer than usual before he allowed the nurses to move Stiles and all of his lovely monitoring equipment and IV bags onto the stretcher.  He fought down the blush when he realized that he wasn’t even allowed to walk from the bed over and was picked up.  His dad gave him one more hug before wishing him luck and then he was gone, being whisked away into the bowels of the hospital while Ms. McCall directed his dad to the waiting room.

Stiles was just quiet as he was wheeled through the staff only doors and to the oversized staff elevator, listening to the nurses gossip about who was dating who and the scandal involving the head ER attending and the slutty nurse on the fourth floor.  The elevator dinged all too soon and Stiles found himself wheeled into a bay with about five or six other people, all of which were looking distinctly drugged and tired.

One of the nurses set up his equipment while the other smiled at him comfortingly and told him that someone would be by in a couple minutes to process him and Stiles just nodded so she didn’t hear his voice crack.  He knew that he would be looking like a druggy too in a matter of minutes and chose to focus on his nails that, he was now noticing, were bitten down to the nubs.  Huh.

It didn’t take long before another doctor came by and pulled up a wheeled stool next to him, flipping through the chart that was attached to his bed.  “Hello Mr. Stilinski, I’m Dr. Ross and I’ll be handling your anesthesia for your procedure this morning.  Do you have any questions before I administer your pre-anesthesia?”

“Pre-anesthesia?” Stiles asked curiously, and Dr. Ross nodded and produced a set of three syringes that he had brought with him.  Two contained clear liquid and the third a milky white substance.

“They’re just some things to help you relax really.  I have a higher dosage of the pain medication from last night, I know that Dr. Torres would rather not have you attached to a morphine drip of we can manage your pain with something that’s less addicting and easier to get off of.  I also have a muscle relaxant and some propoflo that will make you tired and groggy, but will relax you trachea and vocal cords so that I can put in your endotracheal tube in easier later, it should also help keep your throat from being as sore later.  The main anesthesia that we use is isoflourene, but that has to be given as a gas, so you won’t get that until you’re already under.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded, already adding to his research list.  Dr. Ross smiled before beginning to inject the medication into his IV line.  The pain stuff was first and burned just as much as it did the night before.  The muscle relaxant seemed to be a bit thicker and had to be injected over an amount of time so he didn’t get sick apparently, so, by the time the milky propoflo was being injected, Stiles was feeling pretty good and doped up.  He could feel himself going boneless against his pillows and barely noticed Dr. Ross patting his shoulder as he walked away.

He figured he must have blacked out after that, because the next thing he knew Dr. Torres was talking to him as she helped to wheel him into the very bright operating suite.  It was really weird that Stiles didn’t care what they did to him anymore, and that he didn’t feel nervous at all anymore, just sleepy.  He vaguely felt himself being lifted onto the operating table before Dr. Torres’ masked face swam into view again.

 “Okay Stiles, we’re going to put you under now, I want you to breathe in really deep and count backwards from ten for me.” And then the mask was over his mouth and nose and the smell that came through was distinctly chemical, but he took several deep breathes and slurred his way backwards from ten.

 He got to eight before the room faded from view.

* * *

 As unconsciousness began to fade and Stiles became more and more aware, he noticed four very distinct things:

Number 1: His right leg was throbbing with each beat of his heart.  He could also feel the stitches pulling at the skin and the feeling of pins and needles everywhere from his hip to his knee, and wasn’t that uncomfortable.  He also could tell that someone had placed several pillows under his thigh so that his hip was raised up above his heart and that he was reclined more in bed as a result.

Number 2: The skin around his chest felt tighter than normal.  He could only assume that this was because of the port that the doctors placed beneath his collarbone on his left side.  He could feel it every time he breathed deeply and it bothered him quite a lot that he couldn’t take deep breaths anymore without some discomfort.

Number 3: He could sense a disturbance of the force in the region of his dick.  For the time being, and probably for the rest of his life too, he’d rather avoid thinking about what may or may not have been shoved/still is shoved up in there.

Number 4: Someone’s warm hand was around his rubbing circles into the area below the knuckle on his thumb and someone else was talking quietly in the background, but he was unable to understand to hear what they were saying.

His eyelids were still feeling really heavy and like they had been glued together, so he contented himself to float in the space between waking up and sleeping and, slowly, he could feel his body waking up more and more.  Of course an ache coupled with a sharp pain came with it, and he couldn’t help but let out a groan after a particularly merciless throb.  God, he sounded pathetic even to his own ears, but the hand around his tightened and the talking in the background stopped.

“Stiles?”

He considered ignoring the voice and the pain and going back to sleep, but, in the end, he decided to fight against the weight that was still holding down his eyelids and forced them open, blinking rapidly as the harsh white light assaulted his retinas.  After taking a few seconds to adjust, he turned his head to the side to focus on his dad (who was holding his hand) and Derek (who was snapping his cell phone shut in the background).

 “Hey.” Was all that he was able to croak out before going into a coughing fit that caused the site around the port to flare up in agony.  Who knew that having a tube stuck down your throat could make your respiratory system so dry?

 His father shushed him while Derek poured some water into a cup and held it in front of his mouth (he even added a bendy straw, wasn’t that adorable?) and Stiles was too tired and out of it to even feel embarrassed that he couldn’t even hold his own cup of water.  He only took a few careful swallows before he felt too worn out to continue and he cleared his throat and tried again, “How did it go?” Much better, he was actually audible this time.

 “The procedure itself went well enough, they got out a piece off the top like they had hoped and Dr. Torres had it tested and then someone put in your port after they got the results.  Dr. Torres says that you did great and she’s hoping to have you up and moving around before the weekend.” Stiles nodded and waited for him to continue but he didn’t.

 Stiles only waited a couple more seconds before he cleared his throat, “And the results?”

 His dad only hesitated for a quick second before launching into it, “Stage II chondroblastic osteosarcoma.  They were right when they said it looked like it had developed quickly, Dr. West and Dr. Torres don’t think that it’s been growing much longer than six weeks total.  Dr. West also is going to talk to us about your chemo schedule later, I know that she wants to start it tomorrow but she says this is one of the quickest progressions that she’s seen.” He stopped again and considered, what Stiles imagined, was a completely blank look on his son’s face.

 Stiles mouth had gone dry again, and he just focused on the wall in front of him sullenly.  This was so his luck.  He’d been part of a werewolf pack, a _fucking werewolf pack_ , for over a year and had suffered no serious damage from Peter, or the kanima, or the Alpha pack or even the stupid fae that had wandered through last week and now this?  How was this even fair?

“Great.” He responded and even Derek raised his eyebrows at the venom that had overtaken his voice, his father, wisely he might add, ignored it and just ran a hand through Stiles hair (it had to be a greasy mess by now, he couldn’t wait to wash it).  “What time is it?” He asked.  He knew that there wasn’t a clock in this room from the quick survey he had done yesterday.

“About eleven-thirty, the procedure went by really quickly.  Melissa says that they had you in recovery around ten and that you briefly woke up while they were monitoring you.  You’ve only been back in here and able to receive visitors for about thirty minutes.” His dad answered, checking his watch.  “In fact, I’ve got to leave and run to the office soon, I wanted to hang around until you were awake.” He ran his hand through Stiles hair again and he suspected that he was trying to enjoy it before it all fell or Stiles just razored it off.

“You have to work?” Stiles asked innocently.  He didn’t remember his dad saying he had to go in today, but his brain felt foggy and sleep was already tugging at him again and he knew that he was just going to pass out, but it made him feel better to have his dad there with him.  It also made him feel selfish and like a miserable human being.

“It’s only for a few hours, sport.  I just have to arrange some leave time, we’re still understaffed but I’m going to see if I can get a couple days off a week.  I’ll be back by six if all goes well, alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles murmured, his eyes slipping shut against his will before he snapped them open again.  “I’ll probably just sleep all day anyway.”

His dad just smiled at him, “Try to at least wake enough to say hey to your friends when they pop by, Derek tells me that the visit will be really short so that you’ll be able to get more rest.” Derek nodded when the sheriff looked back over his shoulder and moved closer to take Stilinski’s spot next to the bed after he kissed Stiles on the forehead and gave him a gentle hug before telling them both ‘goodbye’ and bustling out of the room.

“Hey,” Stiles managed to force out when Derek plopped down into the plastic chair his father was just in, raising up the hand that still had the IV catheter hooked into it in a little wave.  He supposed that the actual line must be feeding into his shiny new port, but he was honestly too afraid to look and check.

“Hi.” Derek responded carefully, eyes raking over Stiles face before he leaned forward to lean his elbows onto the bed and Stiles didn’t fail to notice that he made a point to make sure his arms were brushing Stiles thigh.  “How are you doing?”

And wasn’t that the million dollar question?  How was he doing?  Since he assumed that Derek meant mentally more than physically, he took a quick mental scan of his body and nodded his head.  “I feel tired, kind of achy, like I have the flu.  Just without all of the attractive vomiting of course.” Derek’s eye twitched subtly, but he didn’t comment, choosing to instead grab Stiles hand and then his veins were turning black.

He’d heard Scott talk about this of course.  It had happened one night after Deaton had shown him that he could take the pain away from a dog that had been hit by a car and Scott had sat in his room crying for the better part of an hour.  They were never going to speak of it again.

Thankfully, all the pain and aches that he had been feeling drained away, leaving Stiles feeling like he was floating.  “I didn’t know that you could do that with humans.” He said curiously, fighting against the new wave of sleep now that he didn’t have any pesky discomfort to keep him awake.

“We can,” Derek started, looking over Stiles face again, “It’s just more difficult to do it to normal humans.  I had plenty of practice when I was growing up since my youngest sister was human.” He stopped again, like he was considering Stiles.  “Stacey, my youngest sister, fell out of a tree and broke her arm when I was ten and she was two.  It stressed all of the rest of us out since she didn’t heal quickly like we did, so Laura, Cora, Nathan and I took turns draining away her pain until she was better.”

Stiles fought against his baser instincts that urged him to gape, this was the first time that Derek had openly talked about his family before the fire since Stiles had known him.  “Was she the only human…?” He trailed off, not wanting to spook Derek if he was actually willing to open up.

 “Was she the only human in the Pack?  No, Peter’s mate, my father and my mom’s sister were all human as well.  Peter’s son and my other aunt’s daughter were both too young for us to tell if they were going to be wolves or not, the signs don’t really start until cubs are about one or two.” His eyes were unfocused as he stared out the window across from him.

 “I’m sorry.” Was all Stiles was able to choke out as he felt his body going more and more boneless against his pillows.  He had never really understood just what Derek had lost in the fire, and how painful that must have been.  Stiles had lost his mother and that had very nearly broken him when he was younger.  Derek had lost his entire family and, more than that, he had lost his pack.  An Alpha, playmates, cubs and all, left only with his older sister and deranged uncle.  No wonder he had been such an asshole when they had first met him.

 Derek shook his head (much like a dog that had water stuck in its ears and, yes, Stiles could make dog jokes forever) before he focused back onto Stiles.  “It wasn’t your fault.” And boy does he sound incredulous that Stiles would apologize for something he didn’t even do.

 “No, it wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t be sorry that it happened.” He said while watching the room flicker in and out of focus.  He was pretty sure that he had slurred every word; it would be an absolute damn miracle if Derek understood anything that he had said.

 “Go to sleep Stiles.” And what was that?  Derek’s voice almost sounded… fond?  Happy?  He’d have to overanalyze this situation later, and Stiles allowed himself to finally fall back into blissful sleep.

* * *

Stiles sort of halfway remembers waking up around two when the rest of the pack came by to visit, but it felt more like a dream than real life.  What was even more surreal was that all of their smiles and happiness to see him seemed to be forced- except for Scott who just pushed him over on the bed again like he owned it and settled in next to him.  They had brought cards and a delicious looking assortment of baked goods with them and were, very clearly, trying to act normal and joke around with him but trying way too hard for it to be even the slightest bit believable.

Lucky for him they only stayed roughly thirty minutes before he was nodding off to sleep again (and probably drooling on Scott’s shoulder) and he knew that the doctors had told him that he would be more tired than normal as the anesthesia wore off, but this was just getting ridiculous.

Thank god Derek had kicked them all out shortly afterward with instructions to go and work on their anchors in preparation for the next full moon and Stiles tried not to feel too hurt at the relieved look on their faces.  Scott, bless his werewolf soul, stayed and seemed to have resigned himself to be a pillow and Stiles fell back asleep rested on the reassuring warmth of his best friend.

When Stiles woke up for real, his father was back and it was dark outside the window.  The Mets game was playing on the outdated hospital television quietly, and his father was cursing under his breath at whatever call the umps had just made against his favorite team.  Stiles just rolled his eyes.  “The score is ten to two in the bottom of the eighth, dad, does it really even matter what calls are made at this point?”

The older Stilinski huffed and looked scandalized. “We can still come back and win.” He groused back, glaring at the TV.

“Yeah, okay dad, sure.” Stiles responded, taking a moment to relish that he had the whole bed to stretch out on now that Scott had gone somewhere (he had apparently dragged Derek with or he had left on his own because the older wolf wasn’t in the room anymore).  “What time is it?” He asked once a commercial had come on (what was it with advertisers playing so many ads for erectile dysfunction during ball games anyway?) and his dad had muted the TV.

“Bit after seven.  Dr. West should be back anytime now, she popped in a while ago to check up on you and she said that she’ll be back to go over what to expect from tomorrow with us.”

“Derek and Scott?” He tossed out, attempting to sound nonchalant about it.

  “Scott’s mom took him home when her shift ended and I sent Derek out to fetch dinner.”

 “You had better hope that it isn’t curly fries and a hamburger.” Stiles threatened cheerfully, but shot his father a dirty look just to be on the safe side.  The sheriff just coughed.

 “Derek told that grease was bad for my health and asked what kind of dressing I liked on my salads and then told me I was getting fat free Italian.” Stiles stared for a grand total of point two seconds before he burst out laughing and fist pumped when his dad scowled and muttered clearly unkind things under his breath.  “I’ll have you know that my cholesterol was excellent at my last check.” He said smugly, pointing an accusing finger at his still cackling son.

 “Great, now let’s just work on keeping it that way, hm?  If you get it down more for the next check then we can negotiate about fries maybe once a week.” 

 “You’re killing me kid.” John groaned good naturedly and Stiles refrained from making a smart comment about how he was actually saving his body from the deadliness that is unsaturated fat.  In the middle of this a nurse came into the room and placed a tray on the rolling table in front of Stiles, telling him to page if he needed anything.  His father rushed to help him sit up so he wouldn’t be tempted to do it by himself and placed his pillows behind his back to prop him up.

 Stiles cautiously took the lid off the plate to reveal a bland looking set up of white rice, mixed vegetables and unseasoned chicken that was dry and had clearly seen better days.  His dad snorted and he heard him say something like ‘justice’, Stiles ignored him in favor of wrinkling his nose and gingerly taking a bite of the rice.  At least it didn’t crunch in his mouth, although it did need salt.

 Despite the fact that he really wasn’t all that hungry –another affect of the anesthesia- Stiles forced himself to scrape the plate clean.  He did know enough about chemotherapy to realize that this might be the last solid meal he would be able to keep down for the next day or so and he would definitely want the calories for later (he remembered how thin his mom had gotten near the end and he didn’t really want to waste away).  He was contemplating eating the lime jell-o (he assumed it was lime by the green color anyway) when Dr. West knocked on the open door and came into the room toting a large stack of papers and pamphlets and a thick chart.

 All of these things she dropped on the end of his bed in favor of examining his monitors and pulling out her stethoscope, “How are you feeling this evening?”

 “Pretty good,” He answered, leaning forward obligingly from his slightly reclined position so that she could listen to his heart and lungs, “still a little tired and sore, but nothing too bad.”

 “Excellent!” She replied with a smile.  “The biopsy went perfectly, as did the port placement.  We’ll remove the IV after your first cycle of treatment and, if all goes well with that, you’ll be able to go home afterward.” She produced a plastic cup that rattled with pills, shoving it into his hand, “These are your supplementary medications for the evening, I have a spreadsheet that you can use once you get home to help you remember when to take what since it will depend on the day.  For example, what you take the night before a treatment will be different than the other nights; you’ll take the same thing every morning except for treatment mornings when you won’t take anything at all.  It’ll get easier to remember over time.”

Stiles just went along with this and peered into the cup at the pills.  He was used to taking pills; he’d been on Adderall since he was a child after all, but tonight’s set had seven and he had never had to rely on medications to keep him alive and his hand was shaking and causing the pills to rattle more and was that because he was upset and scared or from the DTs from the withdrawal from his Adderall?  He focused on stilling his hand and just dumped the pills into his mouth to stop his swirling mind, taking a swig of water to wash them down.  Dr. West nodded approvingly at him.

 “Your tumor _is_ more advanced than our original scans showed, but we also don’t think that’s it’s been growing that long since it hasn’t ossified completely yet and that is the most troubling part.  Because of this, I’ve come up with a new treatment plan for you.  Originally, we had thought that you would be able to go through treatment as an outpatient, but, since the disease has spread so much, we are going to treat it in cycles instead.

 “Cycles?” John asked, reaching out to take Stiles hand, and was it still shaking?

 “Yes.  Starting tomorrow you will be receiving cisplatin for your therapy.  This particular drug takes at least six to eight hours to administer and is followed directly by a vigorous flushing of fluids through your system, the day after you’ll get doxorubicin which takes a little less time to infuse.  Since this is the induction phase we will be keeping you over the weekend for observation and fluid therapy.  After that you get to go home a relax for two weeks until the next cycle, but you do need to come in to get a check up, blood work and a PET scan about a week before the next cycle.”

 “What are the side effects?” They had to be nasty if they wanted to flush his system out afterwards, but Stiles was just impressed that he kept his voice steady the whole time.  Pat on the back for him.

 Dr. West just gave him an apologetic look.  “I’m sure that you know that one of the main side effects from chemo is hair loss, and you should expect that sooner rather than later.  The cisplatin is the worse of the two and after it’s been going about an hour you’ll be feeling pretty awful.  Most patients are nauseous, sick and weak throughout and for a few days after.  You should expect for your appetite to be gone for the next four or five days and for the weakness to persist for a week or two after, the oral drugs you’re taking prolong that particular effect.”

 She took a breath and continued, “You won’t be up to moving around tomorrow after the treatment starts and you’ll be closely monitored up until your discharge since some patients can develop heart problems.  Our physical therapists have decided to wait until Friday before coming around to help get you up and moving which would put you going home Sunday evening or Monday morning.”

 “And then wash, rinse and repeat in two weeks?” Stiles asked, taking the pile of papers that she offered him.

 “Not quite.  You will come back in two weeks, but then we will start doing your treatments three times a week as an outpatient.  The third drug in this plan diffuses much faster, going in in about two hours while we do the fluid therapy at the same time since your port has two hook ups, so you’ll be good to go after that.  That cycle will last for two weeks also, so six treatments like this, and then we’ll redo all of your scan and blood work to see if we can continue that way or if we need to change things up.”

 “And I’ll just be tired the two weeks I’m home but I’ll feel normal otherwise right?”

 “It won’t be the best you’ve ever felt.” Dr. West admitted, “You’ll be really tired and will be restricted to bed rest most likely, kind of like you’re recovering from a bad illness.  The nausea will probably still bother you since some of your oral medications have that as a side effect, but I can prescribe you something if it gets too bad.  Those two weeks are designed for recovering from the first cycle.”

 “Got it,” Stiles intoned expressionlessly, giving the papers in his hands a cursory scan and deciding that he would need hours upon hours on Wikipedia to decipher all the medical jargon listed in them.

 “Thanks for all your help.” Stiles heard his father say, “I suppose that we’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow?” He vaguely heard the ‘yes’ that was given in return and the wish that he and his father had a good night’s rest before the door clicked shut quietly.

 “Stiles…” His dad started slowly, a concerned look coloring up his haggard face and Stiles just felt so guilty about doing this to his dad _again_ , so he just pulled on a disgruntled look and gestulated wildly with the papers in his hand.

 “I’m definitely going to need the internet for this mess.” He said to his dad’s smile.

 “”When you get home, sure,” And then Derek was marching through the door, grumbling into his outdated cell phone and precariously balancing two Styrofoam containers in his other hand.

 “I really don’t care what Aiden said or who started it, I’m saying fix it.  No, next week of course I mean now.  Right, I’ll see you later do try to get along.” He said imperiously into the phone in his ‘ _I am the Alpha’_ voice before flipping it shut and cramming it into his jacket pocket putting the two boxes on the table that had been liberated of Stiles dinner tray, pushing one over at the sheriff and popping the top on his own to reveal a very rare steak (its turns out that all the wolves preferred their meat cooked the cliché raw of horror movies, even Scott who couldn’t even look at it without getting sick before the bite) and a pile of potatoes.  “What’s the verdict?” He asked as he started cutting up his meat with the ineffectual plastic silverware.  Stiles gave him five minutes before he just tore into it with his teeth.  His dad just sulked jealously over his own box of mixed green salad.

 “Treatment tomorrow and the day after and then I should be able to go home for a two week break before the next cycle.” He told Derek, doing his very best to control his voice.  For some reason, Derek was always good at hearing his emotions no matter how hard he tried to hide them and he figured it was a Derek thing and not a wolf thing since the majority of stuff he said still flew over Scott’s head.  Derek gave him a questioning look, but didn’t raise an issue out of it after Stiles shot a look over to where his father was studiously picking all the cucumbers out of his salad and putting them in his napkin like Stiles wouldn’t notice.

 The two of them picked through their dinner in relative silence (Derek never did start ripping on the meat with his teeth much to Stiles disappointment) making clipped comments about the game highlights on occasion while Stiles waded through the papers on his lap.  This lasted for about an hour until his dad started shifting around in his chair, a twinge of discomfort on his face that he tried to cover up with a yawn.

 “Just go home and sleep dad before you pull out your back.” Stiles told him, not bother looking up from the article that listed, in gruesome detail he might add, the very scary side effects of one of his many medications.  Loss of fertility?  What the actual hell?  It recommended that he talk to his doctor about freezing sperm if he thought he might want children later.  Firstly, he was seventeen, way too young to think about baby making, and secondly, he was not beating off into a cup when there were werewolf ears around for obvious reasons if he could even get it up in the first place.  Hospitals were not a great turn on for the average American boy.   

 “I’m quite comfortable here.” His father responded firmly and Stiles rolled his eyes, he must be picking up that habit from Derek.

 “No you’re not; I don’t even have to be able to hear your heart for that.  Go home, take a shower, and sleep.  I believe that we had this conversation yesterday, don’t make me call Ms. McCall to come and drag you out of here against your will.  I bet that would be totally embarrassing; I might even have to pull myself out of this bed so that I could watch.  You wouldn’t do that to me would you?” Stiles asked sweetly, a saccharine smile plastered onto his face at the sight of his father’s scowl.  But, nonetheless, his father stood up and cracked his back before gathering up his coat.

 “You may win this battle but the war is still mine for the taking.”

 “Yeah, whatever you say dad!” He said brightly, waiting for the click of his father’s work shoes to be out of earshot before he let himself collapse back on his pillows again, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes.

 “You want to talk about it?” Derek asked after a moment and Stiles exhaled quickly.

 “It’s just… the treatment is going to be worse than I thought it was going to be is all and it seems so much more real now.  I don’t want to worry my dad, but I know I’m going to be feeling like shit for a while and I don’t want to make him go through all of this again.” Stiles spit out ineloquently, eyes still shut so he didn’t have to see Derek’s reaction.

 “There’s nothing to worry about, you’ll be fine.” And Derek said it with such determination in his voice that Stiles actually glanced up at him.  The wolf had a stubborn look on his face as he watched Stiles.  “You don’t need to worry about your dad either, he’s basically pack as well at this point and we will take care of both of you.” He told Stiles mater-of-factly and Stiles felt the cold cockles of his heart warm and a blush rise high on his cheeks.

 “Thanks.” He managed to choke out before grabbing Derek’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze to express his gratitude.  “You should go home and rest too; it can’t be good for you to sit here all the time.” But Derek just raised an eyebrow at him.

 “There is absolutely nothing that you could do to force me out of here, I’m quite happy where I am, thanks.” And then he surprised Stiles even more by slipping off his jacket and toeing out of his shoes before pulling a Scott and scooting Stiles over so that he could take up the majority of the bed, Stiles snuggled up half on top of him.  And, even more surprising than that, Stiles didn’t grumble or fight him off, just relaxed into Derek’s well-muscled and wide chest and listened to his steady heartbeat while Derek carded his hand through Stiles hair until he fell asleep.

* * *

The treatment goes just about as well as Stiles expected.  Dr. West and one of the trained oncology nurses on staff had gotten him all hooked up and settled in just before nine when his dad arrived.  Dr. West had gone over the effects again and the nurse had put a basin in arms reach of the bed.  Stiles had been feeling pretty confident that he wouldn’t need to use it up until ten-thirty when he had felt the overwhelming need to upchuck and had done so in the basin. 

Clearly he shouldn’t have doubted her.

 Thankfully, Stiles was required to fast before chemo, so he hadn’t eaten that morning and all that had come up was thick yellow bile that burned his throat and caused involuntary tears to leak out of the corners of his eyes and stream down his cheeks.  He had spent the next thirty minutes alternating between gasping and dry heaving as Derek and his dad took turns rubbing his back and wiping the sweat off his forehead and the back of his neck with a tepid cloth.

 On top of this, he could never get a moment’s peace.  There was a constant parade of nurses in and out his door doing things like checking his heart sounds (“A little fast Mr. Stilinski, but not out of normal range”) or shoving a thermometer under his tongue to check his temperature (“Higher than ideal, but that’s to be expected, we’ll keep an eye on it”) or fiddling with the bag that his urinary catheter attached to, measuring his urine output (“It’s starting to get dark, but don’t let that alarm you”) and that was really gross and he didn’t need it flashed up in front of his dad and Derek of all people.

 The worst of the nausea passed three or so hours into treatment when there wasn’t anything left in his stomach to come up and all Stiles wanted to do was curl up on his side and sleep.  It bugged him to no end, however, that he was too weak at this point to get his legs to move the way he wanted them to and that a nurse had to come in to help him adjust so no one aggravated his leg or tangled his many cords and wires. 

 The next few hours after that just passed by in a blur of colors, noise and discomfort; he would fall half asleep and then someone would interrupt to check him over again.  With every disturbance came the roil of more nausea and, toward the end of the day, all he could do was dry heave and gag.  He wasn’t even embarrassed that the bucket was now being held up by Scott because he couldn’t support his upper body on the bed much less hold a basin or the fact that he had a constant stream of tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he curled over the basin.

When had Scott gotten here exactly?  Oh well, he was too tired to care anyway.

 And then it was just all over.  The too perky nurse from earlier came into is room and spoke soothingly about something while she carefully unhooked the chemo bag from his port and disposed of it in the hazardous waste container.  She changed her gloves after that and checked his fluid bag before upping his amount and giving him some sort of injection for nausea (he was informed later that he had received several of these throughout the day but he failed to remember them) and something for the pain that was pounding through his leg and head.  She even turned the lights down on her way out of the room making her his second favorite nurse after Melissa McCall.

 The familiar burn of the pain medicine was accompanied by the full relaxation of his body and the coolness of the fluids as more of them pumped into him.  He closed his eyes and hitched out an uneven sigh at the feeling, he wasn’t aware of how wound up he had been.  Stiles wasn’t sure how long he had laid there before he felt the cloth make another pass across his forehead and he just leaned into its wonderful coolness.

 “You feel any better?” He heard his dad ask him quietly and Stiles cracked his eyes open enough to look at the drawn look on his father’s face, a look he hadn’t seen in years.

 Since his father was clearly upset and worried, Stiles swallowed down the mucus that had built up in the back of his throat so that he could croak out a sarcastic “Never Better” and that should reassure his dad more than anything else because if Stiles was anything it was a sarcastic little shit.  He smiled slightly at his dad’s humorless laugh, but he suspected that it came out more like a grimace than anything else.

 A quick survey of the room showed that Derek was sitting quietly on the edge of the bed behind him and, oh, he was rubbing smooth circles into his back and that felt fucking _wonderful_ , Scott was just frowning at him from his position leaning against the wall and this was the first time he had seen his best friend look at all upset about his diagnosis.  Since he couldn’t bare that look from Scott- who was supposed to be all sunshine and daisies and never supposed to be upset- he turned back to his dad and asked “Time is it?”

 “It’s a bit after six, you slept through your evening exam and a nurse just came by to change your fluid bag to something with more nutrients since you’ll be fasting until Friday.  Dr. West says that you did very well considering.”

Stiles just coughed in response, it sounded awful and Scott flinched and then had an even more helpless look on his face.  He thought about making a witty comment about vomiting and the state it left your throat in afterward, but Derek was already holding a cup with a straw up in front of his lips and he latched onto it and took a careful swallow.  It did make his stomach roll uneasily, but not too bad, so he took a couple more and was determined to finish the cup off but Derek pulled it away before he got the chance.  This sparked a tiny sounding whimper of protest, a sound that he wasn’t even aware that he could actually make.

“If you drink too much too fast you’ll just get sick again.  Give it some time to set and then you can have more.” Derek told him and Stiles groaned, yeah, more vomiting was the last thing he wanted.  “Is there anything else you need?” He asked, his hand drifting back down to rub Stiles back now that it was liberated from the cup, his other hand was using another cloth to swipe at the back of his neck.

Stiles shook his head lightly and fell back into a doze, his eyes drifting back over to Scott unbidden and pang of guilt stabbing into his chest.

As it had been earlier, there was a veritable parade of hospital staff marching in and out of his room throughout the night to check up on his.  It was a nice (read: not nice) bonus that every single one of them made sure to point out that this treatment was very hard on the body and he was doing so well and being so brave and blah blah blah, all it did was annoy him further and make him more irritable the more sleep he lost.  On top of this was the unique opportunity to be poked and prodded by more people and have his every bodily function flashed around for everyone present to see, just really.  Did they have to lift his urine bag that high and change it every hour?  It wasn’t even full!

His dad, Scott and Derek took turns by his side through the night rubbing his back or wiping his face or holding the bucket when his expelled all the water he had been able to drink earlier.  He also remembers Melissa getting off her shift in the ER in the middle of the night and bringing coffee for everyone, smoothing his hair out of his face and taking a couple turns before she took Scott and went home to get some rest since she had to be back in eight hours.    

So, when the sun started rising the next morning, he was up to see it through his small window, being careful not to dislodge the thermometer that was stuck between his lips while the nurse of the hour listened to his heart.  He didn’t have to wait much longer after that for Dr. West to come through on her normal morning rounds, a group of eager looking interns or residents following behind her, and ask how he was feeling.  Stiles took a moment and carefully uncurled himself from the ball he had drawn himself into and Derek jumped to his feet to help him sit up in the bed properly.  Stiles let him and then curled a protective arm over his midsection and tamped down the ever present nausea.

He was starting to figure that maybe some of it was from not having caffeine and Adderall in the last three days.

"Peachy,” He replied hoarsely as she went through her normal morning exam and she let out a giggle at his deadpan humor.

“How was your pain and nausea through the night?  It’s noted on your chart that you still had some problems with your stomach settling even early this morning?” Stiles nodded as she helped him ease back onto his pillows again.

“The nausea is still bad; I just don’t have any proverbial cookies left to toss.  I’m not really in pain anymore, I’m just really tired.” And he was tired and not looking forward to another day like yesterday where he was so sick and couldn’t sleep for the interruptions from his body and people around him.

“The cisplatin is the worst part of the treatment; it’s very hard on the body.  The good news is, today’s treatment will be much easier on your body and you should be able to sleep right through it if you want to.  All in all though, your vitals are looking good so I’m going to go ahead and have someone hook you up.  I’ll also make a note to extend your checks from twice and hour to once an hour so you can get some rest.  Feel free to go ahead and sleep, you don’t have to be awake for them to start.”

“That would be so totally awesome.” He said, eyes already closed, as someone, he wasn’t sure who, readjusted his covers and pillows so he was lying more comfortably.  He was only slightly aware that someone came in soon after and hooked up a line to his second port, flushing it with something icy first, but after that he was gone and either Dr. West was right and this treatment was easier or his body had just decided to shut down for a while.

When he did finally wake up the room was empty except for, surprisingly, Lydia, who was seated in the uncomfortable chair with her feet propped up on his bed looking as perfect and put together as always and filing her nails with a single minded focus.  Stiles just blinked at her a couple times to make sure he wasn’t crazy or hallucinating before he greeted her with a little wave.

She just rose up a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him and pointed in his direction with her emery board, “You look like shit.” She told him and Stiles let out a surprised burst of laughter at her matter-of-fact assessment.

“Thanks.  No really, I love to be told by the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met just how awful I really look.  You flatter me Lydia Martin.” Stiles said dramatically, ignoring her little eye roll (he supposes that the rest of the pack was picking up that habit too).  “Where’s everybody?”

“Melissa threatened to have your dad and Derek removed if they didn’t leave of their own free will to sleep and shower.  She’s pretty much banned them from coming back until tomorrow morning, but Derek told me that he’d be back later tonight.”  She gave him a curious and knowing look, putting down the file with a _‘snap’_ and blowing the dust off her nails.  “He seems to be very… obsessive of you lately.  Something there that you want to share Stilinski?”

“No.  Yes.  Look, I don’t know okay?” Stiles groaned out at her.  Lydia was pretty much privy to everything since they had grown closer and he had realized he didn’t have a crush on her anymore.  She had been the first one he had told, besides Scott of course, that he liked both sexes.  She had just flipped her hair and told him bluntly that she had known that for years before she marched off and left him standing confused in her wake.

“I have no idea what’s going on between us lately.  I mean, after the Darach and the Alphas we got closer and started spending more time together and he’s being really nice and supportive and he’s the only one that isn’t treating me like I’m made of glass and maybe I have some feelings for him?  And have you seen his abs?” And there was the word vomit that Lydia had clearly been waiting for.  She pursued her lips in a smile.

"It’s about time you figured it out.”

“What?” Stiles gaped at her stupidly. 

“Even you’re not that dense.” Lydia said, going back to examining her nails and then producing a gaudy pink polish from nowhere.  “I’ve been feeling the sexual tension between you two for months and I’m willing to bet that you had it long before I started to notice.  And don’t even try to tell me that Derek’s completely straight latest bad choices aside; we’ve all seen how he dresses and no straight man matches that well much less are able to all the female attention he gets on a daily basis, he's bi at the very least.”

“I never really thought about Derek’s preferences, thanks, but I’ve always leaned toward liking women more so, no, I haven’t noticed any of this.” Stiles complained at her, but it lacked any really conviction.  Thinking back on it, he had only kissed two girls in his life: Heather, and that turned out to be a disaster and he has blocked it from his mind permanently, and Lydia, but he wrote that one off since he was having a panic attack and they were leaning more into the ‘just friends’ category anyway.

“You spent several months last year pestering Danny about whether or not gay guys thought you were attractive.”

“Okay, you got me there, but _Derek_?”

“What’s keeping you from climbing him like a tree?  He’s older, more mature and he’s finally calmed his shit now that he has a stable pack to depend on.  Oh, and the two most important qualifiers: he actually likes you for you and he’s able to support you through everything you need.  Also, let’s not kid ourselves here; he’s a fine specimen as well.” Lydia gave him a look that said _‘duh’_ as she started applying a second coat on her left hand.  “Don’t even try to tell me that you haven’t thought about it.”

“I have but…” He trailed off, squirming uncomfortably as he fiddled with the bed remote so that he was sitting up more and not lying down.

“But what?”

“It’d be pretty damn selfish of me to start a relationship with him when I’m sick and I might… die.  I already hate that I’m doing it to my dad and to Scott but Derek’s lost everybody he’s ever cared about and if I die on him too… I don’t want to break him more when he’s finally starting to put himself back together.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, refusing to look at Lydia.  There.  It was all out in the open now.  “It would be so much easier for him to just move on and forget about me.”

“Don’t you dare take that self-sacrificing attitude with me.” Lydia hissed at him through clenched teeth.  “No one is dying.  You’re just sick; humans get sick all the time and if he’s finally got his ducks in a row because of it and he wants you too then let him have you!” Her nails dug into his chin when she jerked his face so that he was looking at her and, God, were those tears in her eyes?  He was so going to Hell for this.  “Derek’s been busy having his head up his own ass for the past year and he’s emotionally stunted but it’s clear that he has a soft spot for you so don’t screw this up because you have a soft spot for him too whether you want to admit it or not.” She sat back down into her chair in a huff.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, ashamed at hurting her feelings.

“As you should be.” She grunted at him as she continued to paint her nails.  “Look, all I’m saying is don’t push him away.  He’s been trying to work up to this for a while and even Scott and Allison have noticed, you’re the only one who’s been completely oblivious that’s he has been pining.  I’m not saying to marry the guy and ride off into the sunset together, just see where it goes and if there’s actually anything there.”

“Okay.” Stiles said with a nod.  Silence fell between the two for a moment before he cleared his throat.  “So what time is it?”

“Eight something I think.  Derek said something about being back at nine for the night but if you want to get some more sleep I can tell him to wake you up when he gets here because, no offense, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“All I’ve done over the past three days is lie around and sleep.  I’m tired of sleeping.” Stiles yawned out, his strength flagging, but he forced himself to sit up more and fight down the nausea that flared up when he shifted.

“That was so convincing.”

 “How’s the pack been?” Stiles asked segueing abruptly into this new subject so that Lydia’s eyes flickered up to him in acknowledgement of his distraction, but answered anyway.

 “I’m sure that the answer that I’m supposed to give is ‘doing great’ but we both know it’s a lie.  They’ve all be edgy lately, Isaac and Aiden got in a fight earlier over something stupid and broke Derek’s table, and the full moon is next Tuesday so it’s only going to get worse.” She gave a careful look.  “Everyone really misses having you around, you help ground things and they’d all like to come visit but Derek and Scott are adamant that you most likely don’t want to be crowded while you’re puking our guts up.” He nodded thoughtfully at this.  “Don’t be surprised if you never get a moment’s peace at home,” She warned.

 “So what are the full moon plans this month?  Mixing it up any?” Stiles asked curiously.  Normally the whole pack spent the evenings at the old Hale house in the woods running around where they couldn’t cause too much damage since there were always inevitable fights.  Lydia, Allison, Danny and Stiles sometimes would join in if they were feeling adventurous, but they generally spent the majority of the night curled up in sleeping bags on the porch watching old episodes of Buffy or Doctor Who (Lydia was a total nerd for both, no matter how much she denied it) and ate snacks while the wolves howled and ran and broke poor hapless trees.

 Once the moon had set later, they would drive to Stiles house since his dad was one of the few that knew about the pack and was comfortable having a large group of teenagers piled up in his living room (“as long as there’s no hanky-panky under my roof”).  So the next day was spent alternating between watching movies, eating copious amounts of food and sleeping curled up together.  It was true that wolves were tactile creatures and it really did help the pack bond to have these sleepovers a couple times a month.

 Stiles felt an ache knowing that he probably wouldn’t get to join in on this for the next little while.

“Well Derek’s already put Scott in charge for the night; he says that he’ll be unavailable,” She gave him a significant look that had his ears warming up, “that being said, I assume that it will be the same, Scott isn’t exactly known for his planning abilities.  I’ll make sure that we’re over at the usual time, unless, of course, you don’t want us to come?”

 “No.” Stiles shook his head vigorously at her, causing the world to tilt slightly as his head throbbed in discomfort and his rebelled.  He took several deep breaths through his nose in an attempt to quell the overwhelming need to gag, which only really succeeded in making him feel lightheaded instead.  Lydia presses the basin into his lap wordlessly and patted his back when he finally just gave up and heaved into it.  Luckily (or maybe it was unluckily since throwing up might make him feel better) he end up just dry heaving pitifully for a couple minutes while his stomach went through spasms until he was able to stop and catch his breath.

This is totally how he wanted to spend his evening, almost barfing in front of the goddess that was Lydia Martin.

“Are you okay?” She asked without her normal fire, her face pinched up as she pried the basin from his fingers and helped him lay back on the pillows so he was propped up at eye level with her.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He said softly, accepting the cup of water she offered and taking a couple sips.  “But, yes, I want you all to come over on Tuesday.  All we do is sleep anyway; I don’t think that it will disturb my plans of lazing around and watching TV.”

“Then we’ll be there.” She responded, and began applying a clear coat to her nails.  “Oh, before I forget,” She reached into her bag and expertly pulled out a stack of printouts (not even smudging her nails he might add) and plopped them on his lap.  “I know it has to be killing you not to be able to research anything, so I printed these off for you.  It might keep you occupied over the weekend at least.”

Stiles flipped through the papers wordlessly and pulled off the yellow highlighter that was binding them together.  “Lydia Martin, I could kiss you!  You are and absolute angel!”

“Tell me something I don’t know Stilinski.” Lydia preened while Stiles dived into the Wikipedia article on osteosarcoma and its different treatments.  They sat in companionable silence for a short time, the only noise the sound of papers rubbing together and Lydia shaking her bottle of polish before the words started to blur on the page and Stiles felt himself start to nod off.

He never truly fell asleep, but he came into awareness at the sound of hushed voices and the gentle press of lacquered lips on his temple followed closely by the clacking of high heels on linoleum floor.  He shifted slightly and then felt a weight settle on the bed to his left and then gentle hands taking the papers and highlighter from his to place them on the night stand.  He opened his eyes, and then just leaned into Derek’s warmth, curling around him.  The man chuckled, but slipped an arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer.

“Miss me?” He asked quietly, nuzzling his face into Stiles hair and neck, scent marking his brain supplied, and he lifted his chin to the side to give Derek better access.

“Yes.” Stiles answered bluntly and maybe Lydia was right, they both wanted this and everything was going to be fine with the cancer (it had to be), so what was stopping them?

“You’re awfully friendly this evening, any reason why?” Derek said, lips ghosting along the shell of his ear and Stiles let out a contented sigh into the shoulder where his face was pillowed.

“Had a come to Jesus with Lydia where she basically told me I was an idiot.”

“Oh?” Derek asked, seemingly interested in this development.  “And are you?”

“Of course, but that’s not the point.  The point is she was right like always and I’m going to definitely hear about it later.” Derek chuckled at this, his nose coming to rest right in the crook of Stiles neck and he breathed in deeply.

“I don’t know why you bother trying to argue at this point.” And his lips were pressed up against his pulse as they moved, his stubble scratching against the sensitive skin and Stiles decided that it was pretty much the best feeling in the world and he could live happy if he got to have this forever.

“Yeah, me neither.” And with that he snuggled in deeper and closed his eyes, comforted into sleep by Derek’s presence.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran away with me. It started out at eight pages and then I got into editing and when I looked at the word count it was over 11,000. Opps? I'm trying (but maybe not succeeding) to show Stiles tendency to jump around subjects and the fact that he thinks in run-on sentences to make it more true to his character and ADD but I think I just end up with a ton of details and not a lot of dialogue, so let me know if there's anything that I can fix. 
> 
> I promise that we will move on from the realm of hospitals and medical things and into some romance and wolf cuddles in the next chapter! Not sure when it will be out (maybe a few weeks?) but we'll see.
> 
> Quick question: Shorter update time and shorter chapters or longer update time and longer chapters? I'm not guaranteeing that the update time will be shorter or that the chapters will be shorter but let me know anyway!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I'm not sure if this is going to be stand alone or if I want to continue working on the second chapter. Let me know what you guys think about it!


End file.
